


Of bad impulse control and special snowflakes

by KuraiOfAnagura



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, JJ is such a jerk but he means well, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Phichit can be scary at times, actually just one of my HCs, well in his very unique way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraiOfAnagura/pseuds/KuraiOfAnagura
Summary: How he loved teasing the shit out of that little Russian skater! He did the same with all of the skaters at his home rink; once he’d found the buttons to push, he was relentless! For Yuri, with his forced upon him fae like image, it was easy to guess and he was even easier to rile up to the snarky comments on his feminine treats.It was just… he didn’t get him.





	Of bad impulse control and special snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> I've just looked it up: I've written this story February 2017 and have never published it!  
> I honestly don't know why :"D
> 
> I've participated in a very lively discussion on the discord server of the Namida Zine on why Yuri was like Yuri is and when several people stated their ideas I was like... wait a second... I kind of... wrote something like that... once upon a time...
> 
> Anyway, please beware of the tags. You'll read about character death and HIV/AIDS in this.

It was at the Rostlecom Cup 2018 when suddenly everything started to make sense to Jean. The setting was as if they’d replayed their previous first banter with switched roles, him coming to Russia and not Yuri attending Skate Canada.

It was just, he didn’t get the kid!

And he was good with kids! Kids meaning everything slightly younger than him, of course. His younger siblings adored him, even though they thought he was kind of dumb. He couldn’t blame them. They were brats, after all.

How he loved teasing the shit out of that little Russian skater! He did the same with all of the skaters at his home rink; once he’d found the buttons to push, he was relentless! For Yuri, with his forced upon him fae like image, it was easy to guess and he was even easier to rile up to the snarky comments on his feminine treats.

It was just… he didn’t get him.

No matter how much he teased, how ridiculous he became… Yuri would never smile. He took it all that serious, it was unnerving and pushed Jean into even more teasing. For Jean the teasing and roasting was the only foolproof way to lighten up the mood at a competition. Because nobody, really nobody could take him and his image seriously.

Except Yuri Plisetksy.

He’d never met such a stubborn case before.

Heck, he even coaxed Otabek to smile as he’d once blasted Highway to Hell from his Bluetooth speakers when the Kazakh skater had arrived for practice in the morning on his Harley.

Deep down Jean knew that it was shitty way to express himself and his concern, but it was wasn’t as if he couldn’t really help it. Plus it also really worked. Whenever he entered the room, nobody could care about the competition any more.

When the assignments were out Jean was not so secretly delighted to be assigned at the Rostlecom Cup together with Katsuki, Chulanont, Otabek, de la Iglesia and his favorite Russian Fairy Plisetsky. Including Nikiforov, of course. That damn machine managed to shoulder the double pressure of both competing and coaching the Japanese skater. AND he was successful with it!

Some things were just too unfair in this world.

The skaters were just released back into the backstage area from the last briefing with the officials who’d run through the schedule one last time so the Free Skate of the men’s singles would go smoothly. Jean was currently, to no one’s surprise, in the first place, Beks at his heels by a mere fraction of a point, closely followed by Katsuki. Plisetsky who’d complained about growing pains all over Instagram struggled on 5th place currently.

Their coaches broke from their loose circle as the skaters entered the room as a high voice broke the concentrated atmosphere.

“Yuratchka!”

Immediately Yuri’s head zeroed on the origin of the call, his face suddenly a bright red.

“Mama!” He started to jog towards his coaching pair and the two people that stood beside them. One was an older man whom Jean knew from several Instagram posts as Yuri’s grandfather. The other was a petite woman in a wheelchair.

The resemblance was striking.

The same shade of light blond hair, the same sparkling green-blue eyes, the same beautiful face. She wore an elaborate make up and was clad in a nice fitting blazer, accompanied by a fur collar. It was an old cut, but fit her small shoulders like haute couture.

Plisetsky had crouched down to be on eye level with her, bearing the unmistakable face of a teenager that is about to be embarrassed by his parent, but loves them too much to call them out. His mother, it had to be his mother, rose the hand that wasn’t clutching her son’s to cradle his cheeks. It was all underlined by cooing phrases in Russian, that he failed to understand yet the tone was unmistakable.

Jeans eyes focused on the woman’s hand as she ran her fingers over the elaborate braids in her son’s hair, saying something to Lilia Baranovskaya, who gave a little bow in lieu of an answer.

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. Her wrists were impossible thin, her fingers appeared claw like and when he looked closer he could see the frailness under all the make-up.

It appeared as if Yuri Plisetsky’s mother was not in the best of health.

The little family circle opened as his mother called for Otabek who approached them with a shyness Jean hadn’t seen in him since they’d both been 16. He shook the delicate hand and was engaged in a rather stern talk that brought more and more redness to Yuri’s face.

Otabek was released with a gentle pat on the cheek and her focus landed on Nikiforov, who’d kept his respectful distance.

“Madame Plisetksy!” he called enthusiastically and crouched down like the boys before him before taking her hand and mouthing a kiss on it. He said something to her that made her giggle and Yuri raising his leg as if to kick him. The accompanying blush made it only more obvious how chalk like her skin really was.

The officials called and the visitors were ushered out of the backstage area. Mother and son parted with a last hug and a kiss to Yuri’s forehead. Madame Plisetsky waved at the other skaters before Yuri’s grandfather wheeled her out of the room.

Otabek stood close to Yuri and something like a silent conversation passed between them before Yuri shook his head and headed out as well.

“Beeeeeks!” Jean greeted his old friend, who just quirked a lazy eyebrow at him.

“Not a chance, Leroy, I’m not going to translate that.”

“Boohoo! You’re no fun!” Otabek strode past him, not gracing him an answer.

“Chulanont!”

“At your service!” As if he’d expected him, Phichit appeared next to him, saluting mockingly. They threw each other a vicious smirk. When it came to gossip he was sure on whom he could count.

“Be a dear and go have a chat with your little old roommate, eh? For old times’ sake, right? Since, you know, he speaks Russian these days.”

“Si, mo capitan!”

“That’s King!”

“Only in your dreams, JJ!” he called over his shoulder before he zeroed onto Katsuki. The Japanese Skater was clearly anxiously torn between the instinct to run away and his determination to remain polite.

“Yuuuuuri~” Phichit practically purred as he wrapped an arm around him. His grin had regained shark like proportions by now.

 

\--

 

Plisetsky skated his heart out.

Even Jean had to admit that such a deep level of feeling was hard to transmit to the audience and that the extent to which Plisetsky had managed in his Free Skate was a rare gem.

He was not the only one who noticed, the judges did as well and you may call them biased to award gold to the only Russian Skater at the Rostlecom Cup but it had been well deserved.

Unlike during his other performances Yuri took his last bow not towards his trainers, but faced the audience had kept his head lower for a longer time than usual. Jean suspected it was in the direction of his family.

Now he stood flanked by Jean with silver and Otabek with bronze in the middle of the podium and did his best not to glare at the approaching flashing lights. Otabek had his designated resting bitch face in place that he wore whenever he was awarded with something; though Jean did catch him as he threw Plisetsky a concerned look.

He couldn’t blame him, sure Yuri was good, but such a difference between Short Program and Free Skate was more or less Katsuki’s trademark.

Jean grinned up at Yuri, flashing his silver medal. “Don’t get too comfortable up there, Princess.” It was the first time this day that they made eye contact and Jean saw something raw behind the death glare he received. He vowed to himself to shut up for his remaining time in Moscow.

He succeeded.

Minus the three little slips he granted himself, of course.

 

\--

 

“Ok, Chulanont! Spill!”

Chulanont, de la Iglesia and Jean sat in the lounge room of the duty free area at the airport, nursing equally expensive and over sugared coffees. It was a lucky coincidence.

He and Leo would be on the same flight until Frankfurt where they’d switch planes. Chulanonts plane would leave 20 minutes after theirs.

Their coaches were either asleep or roaming the duty free shops which gave the three skaters time to chat.

“Ok, I actually feel bad now.”

“Why? That much drama?” Leo chimed in as he licked the cream from his upper lip.

“You’ve no idea! You could make an anime out of it!”

“Shounen or Shoujo?” Jean asked, because, of course, he was well versed in many things.

“Shoujo. Seriously, if you add just a tiny bit more sparkle to it we would have a 12 episode first season!”

“What exactly did Yuuri tell you?” How could Leo get another milk mustache was beyond his comprehension.

“Mark my words, Leo, it wasn’t easy! But I know my favorite little Japanese bean and knew which buttons to push!”

“Yeah, yeah, Phichit, could you please come to the point?”

“Relax, JJ, like I said. I feel bad actually. Mostly for intruding, cuz that’s really private and yeah…”

Jean opted to swallow his groan together with a sip of coffee, knowing damn well that Phichit couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

“Ok, the woman that visited was Plisetsky’s mom.”

“We figured that much already, hamster head.”

“Okok, so here’s the whole story. She was actually once one of those super gorgeous, super thin pop stars that Russia seems pop out in a ten minute tact. She was actually also really talented, nice voice and good dancing skills. But the business was kind of harsh on her and she ended up pregnant at 16 from her Manager, who threatened her to sign a contract through which she’d never get any money from him. Be it for her or the child. That was by the way little Yuri, so she’s still very young. From what Katsuki told me, from what Victor told him, she moved back in with her parents and worked her ass off to provide her little sunshine with everything he’d needed and desired. She even sold her golden records to pay for his first skating coach…”

“I can see a big fat BUT hanging around here.”

“Buuuut as you may’ve noticed she’s not really capable anymore to work.”

“What is it?”

“And here comes the private part, ok? Apparently besides all the shit she had to go through she’d also the bad luck that her manager was HIV positive and that meant in extension she had to be too. It came clear as she was checked during pregnancy. Thanks to c-section Yuri didn’t catch it, but her health had never been the best.

Then, during his first year in juniors it degraded into AIDS.

And here’s the point actually… they don’t know who said it. Maybe it was one of the coaches; maybe it was even his grandfather. But somebody told little Yuri that if he’d skated good enough to win he’d earn a lot of money with which he could pay his mother’s medicine.

Now take a little boy, who loves his Mama dearly. Whose Mother had given up everything for him and who is about to die that he can safe her if he just skated good enough…”

“Then you get a Yuri Plisetsky…”

Yeah, suddenly everything made sense to Jean and he couldn’t help but feel somehow lost at the realization.

“But I never saw her in one of his Insta posts? I checked last night after the EX.” Leo chimed in, thankfully without dairy products adorning his face this time.

“Yuuri has met her only once before and that was when he and Victor harassed Yuri during summer break for a day or so. Apparently Yuri always spends it at home in Moscow. Yuuri told me that she’s really prideful, almost regal. I bet she wouldn’t want to be seen weak by the world.”

“And now we know where Yuri gets it from.”

“It’s not that hard. Yuuri also told me that she’d wanted to come to Hasetsu that spring to support her son, but since that year her health has gone downhill more and more. Rostlecom Cup was the first competition she could manage in a long time.

 

\--

 

“Jean, you alright?” his mother put a gentle hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his brooding. Their luggage was delayed and all they could do was waiting on the uncomfortable plastic seats at Montreal airport. He hadn’t been able to shake the black knot in his stomach since he’d parted with Phichit and Leo.

“I love you, Maman,” he said and threw his arms around his mother’s shoulders. Somewhat surprised it took her a moment until she returned his embrace.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Yuri Plisetsky’s mother was at the Rostlecom Cup. She’s very sick and he’d always ever skated to earn money for her treatment, but I saw her and she looks really bad.”

“Oh,  _ mon petit flocon de neige _ , come here,” she managed to gently rearranging them that Jean’s head was cushioned in his lap and suddenly the chairs weren’t that uncomfortable at all.

“You’re a kind boy to feel for your rival, aren’t you? And don’t worry about me, I won’t go anywhere soon,” she started stroking through his hair as she’d done when he was little. She was usually always so hard to him. She had to be. She was his coach and a former athlete as well. But right now she was gentle and warm and safe. And Jean was overwhelmed with a wave of gratefulness to have her.

 

\--

 

The season came and went. Katsuki finally managed to get gold at the GPF. Plisetsky was very angry about his bronze, but managed to beat Nikivorof at their nationals, finally accomplishing his personal goal. Only to be crushed by him in return at Europe’s. Jean had to begrudgingly make place on the top for Otabek at the Four Continents, but was pleased he could outskate Katsuki and Chulanont for silver.

Nikiforov made his glittering swan’s song at worlds . Officially retiring after this season for good. Phichit told him he’d twisted his knee badly during Europe’s, but Jean failed to see it as he showed all the other skater’s what difference lay between them and the living legend.

Jean was in it for second place and to the surprise of many, Nekola for third. From Otabek he knew that the first serious tendrils of a last growth spurt were now showing earnestly in Yuri and the style the small skater showed could only be called “out of pure spite”. He’d barely managed to skate into the top 10.

It was the last open training before the EX skate, reporters swarming the rink before the skaters would leave the ice to prepare for the upcoming gala skates. Jean leaned against the railing near the entrance, sipping from his water bottle.

“Victor!” It wasn’t a scream, more a breathless gasp, but Jean heard it clearly and saw Plisetsky at the entrance of the rink, clutching his phone to his ear as if his life depended on it. Victor also heard and as his head turned everything slipped into slow motion. The look on Yuri’s face was going to haunt Jean for the rest of his life. It was empty and full of dread at the same time; and a pain so big, Jean felt it in his heart as well.  Nikiforov set off and all but dashed out of the rink, stumbling over the concrete, probably ruining his blades in the process. He didn’t care at all. He reached Yuri and pressed the boy hard into his chest, embracing him tightly as a switch was pulled in him and Yuri threw his head back in a silent scream, air and voice failing him. Nikiforov managed to stand on one blade, supporting himself and the withering boy as Yakov Feltsman unlaced his other skate, repeating the process, before they both hurried to drag Plisetsky out of the Arena.

Jean knew why. Behind him he could feel the stampede of reporter approaching them like vultures. It was a small passage and Jean didn’t really think as he put one hand on the wall and the other on the railing of the rink, trademark smile in his face, chest puffed out and effectively blocking the path for any reporter trying to reach Plisetsky.

“Oh, my friends, please, one at a time! And here I was wondering when you’d want to ask me about the Quad I threw in the last half? I’m sure you’d like to hear all of the details!” The reporters tried to make their way through his limbs, but in the end didn’t dare to pass him in fear of knocking him over.

“Yes, it was pretty amazing, right? A shame I couldn’t reach the podium, but what do we say? After the competition is before the competition! I’d like to talk with you about my training regimen of how I plan to overcome Nekola!”

“Ah, but JJ! Aren’t you forgetting someone? I was that close behind you on silver in at Four Continents!”

Jean looked to his left and saw that Phichit had joined his human barrier. Behind him he could see Beks finally reaching the exit as well, hurrying after the Russians.

 

The gala skates were a strange affair. Plisetsky was nowhere to be seen and Victor truly skated a swan’s song, reporters, bystanders and commentators equally moved to tears.

At the Gala Mila Babicheva materialized out of thin air in front of him and pressed a glass of champagne in his hand and a kiss on his cheek. Her smile was tired but sincere and she was of again before Isabella all but quirked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t even bother to look, he knew Beks and Yuri were not here. The look on all of the members of the Russian team was forlorn and full of concern, their youngest being wounded and hurting.

“And?” Jean didn’t really need the sad look and Phichit’s face to confirm his fears.

“It’s like we suspected, JJ. She died that morning. It just took his Grandfather so long to get through.”

They all shared a heavy sigh.

 

\--

 

It took surprisingly long for him and Plisetsky to meet again. Almost a year.

Jean had been more that concerned as Yuri all but vanished from social media overnight. His concern went that far that he contacted Otabek, who in return thanked him, but reassured that Yuri was alive and somewhat fine and just needed his time.

The postings started again around the peak of summer, beautiful pictures of the Japanese scenery outside of Hasetsu and after that the one or the other selfie beneath all of the cat pictures. From what he heard from Leo, from what Phichit told him, who got it from Katsuki, Plisetsky was hit by his growth spurt and struggled a lot to adjust with his new body. Jean, who’d grown the last several inches within one fall, winced in sympathy at the thought. So it didn’t come as a surprise when his mother informed him that the Russian’s hadn’t listed Yuri for their team for the GP series. He grew again more and more concerned when he didn’t attend at the Euros or the Nationals either.

The first time he saw him again in person came as a surprise at Four Continents. Apparently he’d come to support Otabek and Jean must’ve looked more than surprised when he found himself face to face on the same eye level with Plisetsky in the locker rooms.

“Look at you! Our little kitten suddenly got so tall! Maybe I should switch to tiger now? But I think Rapunzel’s so much more better!” Jean had to cringe inwardly at himself. He just couldn’t stop it or his big mouth. But Plisetsky had changed. Remarkably so. Not only was he just a few centimeters smaller than Jean himself, his hair had gotten longer, brushing way past his shoulders. But what struck him the most were his eyes. They were tired and mature and scarred and Jean didn’t dare to imagine the pain behind them.

But then they lit up again in their old fire. “Fuck off, JJ, you show your incompetence once more. That is totally Elsa hair and not Rapunzel! The shade’s much lighter!” The following grin sounded very much like a peace offer and Jean bit his tongue to stop himself and his impulses. Instead he just winked and grinned in return.

“Mila told me what you did last year… at worlds… and … thanks.”

Jean visibly pinched his wrist and hoped he could hide it as a scratch. “Anytime, Plisetsky.” If Yuri had seen it, he opted to not comment on it.

“I’m sorry.” Whatever spark had shone in his eyes vanished again.

“Thanks.”

This time he pinched his armpit to restrain himself and Yuri laughed lightly. “Wow, you really can’t control it, do you? Beka told me it’s a compulsive disorder, but I wouldn’t have gone that far. Well, until now.” Jean smiled nervously, biting the insides of his cheeks.

Yuri’s grin turned sly.

The door opened and Otabek held it open for his mother, both lowly chatting and Quebecois.

“Ah, there you are. It’s time for the warmups,” his mother called. Beks strode to Yuri and Jean noticed with delight how he had to crane his neck to look Yuri in the face.

“Yura?” he asked with concern and Plisetsky managed a small sincere smile and shook his head before he interlaced their fingers.

Ah, so that’s how it is.

Somehow he felt more at ease as he did in months.

“But, Elsa, Beks makes such a bad Anna, don’t you think so? Eugene would be so much better!”

“I swear to god, JJ, I will disemb- “ Otabek’s hand shot up and covered his mouth and somehow Jean knew that everything within its own time would turn out ok.

**Author's Note:**

> I remeber writing this because I was sick of the whole "Yuri's mother was a bitch who left him" trope and created this. A loving mother, who did everything for her son <3


End file.
